Release
by Abigail Blake
Summary: Sammy Reese's father died when she was twelve from a murderer still at large. Now seventeen, she faces her abusive stepdad, Rodney, every single day. But when she figures out who killed her dad, her life will change forever...


Release

Chapter 1.

_"Please!" I beg. Rodney doesn't stop. His clenched fist collides with my eye once more and I fall to the ground. I gaze up through the tears in my eyes and see that Rodney's face is contorted with rage. His swollen features are wrinkled in disgust and his normally blue eyes are bloodshot from the vodka. "What was that? I can't hear you! Speak up!" Rodney yells and instantly I wish I hadn't told my mom about Rebecca. "Come on, Sammy, I can't hear you!" His size thirteen Nike's collide with my ribcage and I feel myself losing conciousness._

_The swelling in my right eye has already begun and the only thing that I can hear out of my left ear is a piercing ring. Black spots dance across my line of vision and I feel myself clench in pain. A tear slips over my eyelid and suddenly I can't feel anything. The tremendous pain I was feeling before lifts from my body in a quick manner. I am rising in the air. I look down and see my swollen, bleeding, and bruised body curled up on the ground._

_"NO!" I cry out. Not a sound emerges from my throat and I am lifting faster and faster throught the roof. I look around me and see other people like me. Some of their expressions are of surprise, some of loss. The most common is a look of pure content and relief. Almost immediately, I feel the remorse melt away and I accept my fate._

I wake up in a cold sweat in my bed. My heavy breathing is the only thing I hear before the crying begins. Rough, hoarse sobs racking my whole body. My throat is constricted. I am trying not to let Rodney hear me crying from his room with my mother across the hall. Pressing a hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs, I swing my bruised legs out of the bed. I wince as the soreness hits me like an uncontrolled freight train.

My real father died about five years ago when I was twelve. I remember my best friend coming over to comfort me and us missing about a week of school because of it. He had been shot to death by a murderer still on the move. I had been greeted at the door by my uncle Joseph. "Oh, sweetheart." he had said before bringing me into a tight hug. The only time that he ever greeted me at the door with a hug was when he sold a house- he was a realtor- or something really fucked up had gone down. When he hadn't told me anything about a house sale, I began to panic.

"Joe, what's going on? Is Nana dead?" I had asked him. My Nana had been in the hospital at the time. I realized I had begun to hyperventilate when I noticed that everyone in my family was sitting at the glass dining table. Mom was at the head of the table, looking like some sort of a robot or a mannequin. Her eyes were glazed over and it looked as if all the life was drained from her. "Mom? What's going on? Where's dad?" I had asked her. The only response I had recieved was the trembling finger pointing out the front window.

I followed it hesitantly only to be stabbed in the gut by the sight of the gurney with a body covered in a white sheet. Bright red pools had collected at the body's chest. I had run to the EMTs standing around the ambulance. "Please", I had said. The tears had begun to flow when the man in the white uniform shook his head. "I'm sorry." he had said. The knife in my stomach twisted as I ran over to the gurney. I had pulled back the satiny sheet covering the body only to have my heart shattered by my father's blue lips and grey skin. "NO!" I had shouted. "Daddy!" The EMTs had to hold me back as they lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

I'm pulling my closet door open as I shake the bad memory from my head. I yank my tank top over my head and replace it with a navy blue form-fitting Aero t-shirt. Turning to my mirror, I grab my hairbrush and pull it through my blonde waves. People have told me that I have the best eye color. My eyes are a turqoise color with more green than blue. I stand up straight and stretch, wincing once again at the soreness in my back and legs.

Lifting the side of my shirt, my fingers glide gently across a dark bruise that has come to settle on my ribcage. I shudder at the memory of my dream and how dangerously close to reality it had come. Last week, I had come to notice a slight change in the way I felt for my friend Rebecca. I had passed it off as horomones trying to mix up my sexuality, but had let it slip to my mom that I had somewhat of a little crush on my best friend. Lately, I've come to not trust my mother with my secrets because of the fact that she told my stepdad, Rodney, that I was completely bisexual. Or did she tell him that I was a lesbian? Either way, neither of those are true. I have a boyfriend.

Rodney had been drinking since five'o'clock when my mother told him at nine. I had been asleep when my stepdad busted in to my room, fists balled up at his sides. I had shot up in bed and spun around towards him only to have his beefy hand strike me across my right cheek. He had pulled me out of bed by my shoulders and I had hit my head on the nightstand. "Rodney!" I had choked out. "Please!" Rodney balled up his purple hand to come across my right eye in a painful punch. A second time. "What was that? I can't hear you! Speak up!" Rodney had shouted. "Come on, Sammy, I can't hear you!" He then kicked me directly in my ribcage. I had blacked out after that, my world shattered.

Fully awake now, I stride over to my dresser to get a pair of jeans and socks. I pull them over my swollen legs and bend over to pick up my shoes. "Fuck!" I say. My funnybone throbs from hitting it against my nightstand. I carress my elbow and stare at the corner of the structure beside my bed. The dried red substance is dark in contrast to the white paint. My head snaps in the direction of my door. My outburst has caused something to stir across the hallway.

Without hesitation I yank open my second story window. I've only snuck out twice before, but my method has grown on me. I take a deep breath before stepping out into the cool August air. I immediately regret my decision on bringing a hoodie out with me. I carefully place my Puma-clad feet onto the outstretched tree branch in my front yard. A ropeswing that had been set up for my little sister, Laney, was tied to the branch. I swing my body over the tree branch and find a knot in the rope to place my feet on. I shimmy down it and find relief when my feet touch the soft grass below.

I waste no time as I begin to run down the street. The soft slaps of my shoes in the puddles on the street and the rythmic sound of my breathing are the only noises heard in the midnight hour. Running had always been one of my strong-suits. I was on the track team at school. At one point, I was on the soccer team, but dropped out because it wasn't much of a running feat. I switched to the track team and loved it ever since.

I was on the team along with my friend Christina who, according to her, was my husband. I laugh at the memory of her coming up behind me during break and putting her arm around my waist saying, "I'm your husband. We're married now." For some reason, I prefer running at night. My peaceful state is interrupted by my phone ringing out into the silence. With shaking fingers, I take my phone from my pocket. My eyes widen with terror as I see the caller I.D.; _Rodney_.


End file.
